Legolas's Two Cents
by Fruitful Action
Summary: It seems this elf has a pithy retort for anything and everything that may happen to him whilst he traipses around in the company of smelly men and The Most Evil Ring. Legolas's two cents are worth more than your three dollars.
1. In Which, I Think I Volunteered

Authors' Note: This is basically a rewriting of the series by Maeve and I which we are doing purely for our own personal amuse

Authors' Note: _This is basically a rewriting of the series by Maeve and I which we are doing purely for our own personal amusement. We figured others might like to giggle over it with us. I will warn you that our sense of humor is … how should I put it … different. This is also only done when we are together and awake at the same time. Therefore, some of this is really short, some of it might bore you. We've been at it for almost a year and we hadn't really gotten into it until somewhere around chapter 6. Feel free to skip ahead, but I do so enjoy Legolas's bitching._

Prologue

Somehow, The-Most-Evil-Ring, created to unite Middle Earth as one nation under evil, landed in the middle of the boonies which was inhabited by a bunch of hairy midgets who called themselves hobbits to make themselves feel better. No one's sure why.

Its evil plan to take over was discovered by the grimy, gruff, good, grey Gandalf who convinced a very misfortunate and entirely too naïve and trusting hobbit (ie midget) by the name of Frodo to take the ring to the very well decorated house of Elrond. There, The-Most-Evil-Ring's (and the world's) fate would be decided.

And that's how we ended up here. In this 'secret meeting' that's gone on all day and has by now become the talk of the town.

The hobbit sitting next to me has a very vocal stomach, which tells me it's most likely very close or, Valar forbid, past noon.

My name's Legolas by the way, and I'm not having fun. Just in case you hadn't noticed.

I got sent here by my less-than-protective father to tell everyone that Gollum got away, but no one's given me my turn. What happened to proper Circle-Time etiquette? Don't they know I'm a prince? I should've worn my crown.

Oh, wait-a-minute, something productive has actually happened! That funny little hobbit, that's almost but still not quite as attractive as me, has volunteered to take The-Ring to Mt. Doom.

It's a nice gesture, but I give him five minutes at best. I'm generous after all.

…

Someone needs to tell him capri-pants are no longer 'in'.

…

Waaaiiiitaminute. While I was distracted, I think I volunteered to go with him.

Shit.

On the plus side… I'm not alone. Though I'm not sure that's such a blessing. I will be traveling with four hairy midgets (one of which will be in constant danger of 'temptation'), one very unpleasant dwarf, a man whom I adore but does not understand the concept of bathing, another bitchy - and therefore inconsequential - human, and Gandalf.

Need I say more?


	2. In Which, I Prove My Heterosexuality

Chapter 1

I am an elf. Therefore, I love nature.

_However_.

It is more than possible to have too much - and I mean WAY too much – of a good thing.

…

Frodo is a whiney little bastard. But I have come to accept this. _Every_one has come to accept this.

Yesterday, while we were walking (we do a lot of that, thank you Aragorn) he spent a full hour-and-a-half enumerating the miseries The-Most-Evil-Ring has brought upon him. Need I remind you that no one forced him to take it? Mr. Captain-of-the-Dinner-Plate (ie Boromir, but that name's too cool, he doesn't deserve it) would have been more than happy to take it in his stead. And fondle it even more.

Speaking of the Dinner Plate… I somehow managed to wind up behind it. How did that happen? I've been rather pointedly trying to stay in _front_ of it. What is that thing coated with? Whatever it is, it reflects the sun like nobody's business. I'm getting a second-hand sunburn!

The least he could do is cover it with his years-out-of-date, ridiculously fur-lined cloak.

I mean, come on. Fur? It's **hot** out!

…

Gimli doesn't like me.

He keeps drifting back here to walk with the man who brought his own full-length mirror. I think he does it just to piss me off. He keeps talking (or rather, bellowing) about how my father locked his father, and his trespassing dwarf friends, in the dungeon for like, a month. Somehow, this is my fault. Despite the fact that I was out of town, and he hadn't been born yet.

…

Every time we've stopped to eat, Gimli has made it his mission to make me apologize for this effrontery.

I. Will. Not.

Every time he fails, the next words out of his mouth are: 'All elves are gay' and 'I can't tell the difference between the men and the women'.

I think the problem here is his hair.

Or possibly my hair.

What we have seems to be a run-of-the-mill case of hygiene-envy. I'd be delighted to lend him some of my shampoo. And my comb (or maybe not, I don't think it would forgive me if I handed it over). It'd be doing the world a favor. And me.

I'd like him to leave me alone about the gay thing.

If he knew how much skirt I've gotten, he'd never mention it again.

But I am above such gloating. Because I've a strong suspicion he is a virgin, and I don't want him even more angry at me. And while we're on the subject…

Have you ever seen a female dwarf?

I wouldn't know if I have. They all have beards. And deep voices. And large muscles. In fact… it is widely believed that they don't exist.

Who's gay now, bitch?


	3. In Which, I Am Brief

Chapter 2

I like Merry and Pippin.

I really do.

As much as I like them though, their newly discovered talent to ask five hundred questions or more in the space of two minutes does try my patience.

My elfishness is apparently very fascinating.

I give you now, a very (very, very, very) short excerpt of this morning's interrogation.

_Merry: "How old are you?"_

_Pippin: "Why are your ears pointed?"_

_Both: "They're cool!"_

_Myself: -speechless, as I was not expecting any of this-_

_Merry: "Where do you come from?"_

_Pippin: "Can I hold your bow?"_

_Merry: "You're arrows are really pointy!"_

_Both: "That's cool!"_

Pointy things are apparently equally as fascinating.

_Merry: "Do all elves look like you?"_

_Myself: "Did you not see Elrond at the council?"_

_Merry: "We were distracted by his eyebrows."_

_Pippin: "What happened?"_

You know, I _thought_ he looked different. Someone must have had a little accident with his daughter's tweezers that morning. No wonder he was crabby.


	4. In Which, I Question Myself

Chapter 3

It's probably just the heat, but I've begun to feel slightly inadequate. I know it's not the size of my… bow… I'm quite happy there, thank you. Especially after multiple happenings of communal bathing. In fact, my sympathies were stirred for those poor mortals.

I think I shocked the hobbits.

But I digress. Recently I've just not been feeling quite as good about myself. I don't know why. I know I'm better looking than every man here. Man… hobbit… dwarf… wizard. Person. Every person here. But still…

Must just be all the walking. Good exercise for the gluts though. You could bounce a coin off my ass if you felt like it. If you were a good looking woman, I would encourage it.

Maybe that's it.

I haven't gotten any in a few weeks now. That can lower a man's self esteem.

I suppose if I was desperate enough…

But no. Man parts… no. Just. No.


	5. In Which, Everything Equals Sex

Italics: _nasty dirty elf fantasy world_

Chapter 4

The Gap of Rohan approaches.

That is what Gandalf declared.

_Quivering thighs, bated breath, and shining sweat. Arching back and supple feminine curves all leading down to a welcoming, moist 'Gap of Rohan'._

That is what I thought of.

And thus, you can see exactly how badly I need to get laid. Rohan isn't even a feminine name! The Valar grant me strength, I don't think I'll be able to make it the whole way through.

No.

Not through. Bad thoughts. Bad Legolas.

I am thoroughly grateful that I am walking in the back right now. I feel that it would be a mite difficult to explain to the young hobbits just why I had to smack myself. And why my 'bow' is drawn. Ahem.

We are traveling to the Gap of Rohan (which is not the vagina of a well-endowed and very willing trollop) but I don't think the giant sized flock of bird-minions really want us to get that far. I have informed the rest of our esteemed group of my opinion on this, and we are now hiding under rocks and bushes.

I regret opening my big mouth.

But, even I must admit that I enjoyed tossing Merry and Pippin like the sacks of potatoes they like to eat through. It was very satisfying.

As a direct result of this unfortunate happening, Gandalf has decided in his infinite wisdom, that we shall go _over_ the mountain.

Over it.

I don't know if you realize, but the Misty Mountains are big. Really big. And I mean Can't-see-the-top big. Which is really, really big. And cold, thus snowy.

I can't say I'm overly worried about the snow. I can walk on it, I'm an elf after all. But I've got a strong suspicion that I will end up carrying one of the hobbits. Which means I'll either end up with complaints directly in my sensitive ears, an over-weight back-pack clinger, or an endless, breathless interrogation.

I can only consol myself with the future image of Gimli under five feet of snow. It will be cherished.

…

We are now walking up the very large mountain. And, as I predicted, it's cold.

I can tell that it's cold because everyone else is quiet now.

There was a rather interesting episode a little while ago. Frodo tripped, dropped his pretty ring, Boromir found it and attempted to play keep-away, which resulted in Aragorn clearly threatening him with dismemberment via suggestive hand motions and a firm "Give Frodo the ring". While all this drama was occurring, the rest of our party stood and stared like there was nothing better to do.

To prove this, I will admit that I was sorely tempted to give Gimli a helpful shove over the cliff we were traveling on.

We are all acting like children.

And as of now, I have never felt so old. I mean mature. Elves don't do old.

Elves also do not do 'slow'. Which is how we've been moving since that incident. The snow is deep enough to cover Gimli, finally. And I delight in gracing him with the view of my boots every time I stroll past him. Which I have done four times now.

It doesn't get old.

I'm pretty sure I'm hearing something akin to 'pussyfooting' every time I complete a successful pass. I'm also pretty sure that it's supposed an insult. I can't help but agree with the term. I am quite graceful and predatory. It definitely helps that my agreeing irritates him.

…

The snail's pace is getting really annoying.

In my frustration, I may have let slip my dissatisfaction with the current company. And while it is certainly true that if we were all elves we would already be over the mountain, Gandalf did not seem to appreciate my pointing out the 'minor' flaw in his plan.

He growled at me: If we were all elves, we could fetch the sun.

Well. Imagine that. I think I might just try.

Apparently my leaving right after his declaration was not enough to tell him what my plan was, and so when he asked where I was going, I enlightened him.

Off to fetch the sun, I am. And I will do it with all of my elfish talent. You may not appreciate me for my wit, but I rather thought that was one my more clever moments.

In my victoriously satisfied state, I felt that I should spare the mortals my irritation.

No one could ever be quite as magnificent as myself, so really, how can I blame them?


	6. In Which, We Are Fucked

Chapter 5

Someone is fucking with us.

The snow just stops at the end of the mountain. From six feet, to nothing - which is not normally possible. Magic is involved. So… I feel I must return to the group and let them know.

Thus, in the time it took me to reach the bottom of the mountain and return, I have discovered just how slow mortals can really get. I can still see familiar landmarks, like the snow hobbit I made on the way down. I was feeling creative at the time, and I figured that Boromir-of-the-traveling-mirror would appreciate a Frodo sized target if he ever decided to turn around.

I informed everyone of the snow-problem-thing and Gandalf growled "Sarumon".

Pippin said: bless you.

It got him a smack to the head, but I was rather amused.

We are still going up the mountain, which seems unwise to me, but who am I to argue. I didn't bring back the sun with me – it was too far away – but if I had, it would be a moot point, because then the snow would be water and I'm fairly certain everyone here can float in the current faster than they are walking now.

The weather has gone from tolerably-nippy to freaking-frozen by this time and magic is in the air. Magic in the form of "a foul voice in the air". Whoooooooo. Everyone is taking this very seriously, and considering the outcome, I'm glad. An angry and pointed white-out of a blizzard would definitely qualify as 'dangerous'.

Gandalf is under the impression that yelling back at the storm will solve the problem.

It's doesn't.

I'm sure you're not surprised.

However, right after that, a rather impressive avalanche fell over our heads – thank you, Gandalf, for yelling. I would like to point out, that if I hadn't risked my perfectly carved neck, Gandalf, bless him, would not be with us. In fact, he would be a rather flattened excuse of a snowman. Or rather, snow-wizard. Ha.

I kill myself.

…

I won the dig-yourself-out-of-disorienting-snow-banks contest.

Not that it's surprising or appreciated by anyone who is not me. I did help the others out. I'm charitable like that you know.

The man of the mirror declares that there is no way we're going to make it over the mountain. I contemplate telling him that it would honestly be fairly simple for me, but I doubt that would be received well.

Gimli, in all his hairy, unwashed glory, offers passage through the Mines of Moria…

Oh. Joy.

All of Gandalf's wisdom tells him that the best choice is to leave all the important decision making to the ringbearer. Because obviously the little boy on a constant verge of mental breakdown is qualified to be making life-altering decisions for all of us. Of course if things go wrong, all of the blame will be resting on Frodo's shoulders, so in a completely cruel and self-serving way, it was a wise choice.

Unfortunately, in my opinion, the little furball chose Moria. Third time's the charm I suppose: can't go through it, can't go over it, mayhaps we can go under it. All the frostbitten mortals are pleased to be leaving the mountain, Gimli actually skipped for joy…Or tripped repeatedly; can't tell which.

…

A great deal of walking (for the mortals: struggling) later, we reached the doors of Moria.

Gimli seems very proud of the fact that his people worked so hard on their protections that they ended up protecting their home from themselves. Whatever happened to keys?

We have found the door. Which is locked. This is unsurprising only to me. Gandalf, however, seems confident that he can figure out the password… that is, until he actually tries.

He did make a good show of throwing up his arms and bellowing something in an ancient language that even I didn't know. Which was impressive. Useless, but impressive. I believe the doors may have contemplated opening merely because of his stage presence and ability to overwhelm the mind with expectations. If those doors were anything other than inanimate, they would have bowed at his feet. But alas…

It took a few more elaborate tries on Gandalf's part before one of the hobbits, Pippin, piped up (no pun intended) with a 'stating the obvious for no other reason than I can speak' tone: "Nothing happened. What are you going to do now?"

This was not well received. He threatened to batter down the doors with Pippin's head, which I concede might actually work, and then stomped off to mutter to himself and smoke. What is it exactly with mortals and smoking? I really don't see the appeal… the nasty smell, the bitter taste, and the awful after-breath is all it takes to assure that I will not hang around long while the stuff is burning.

In the mean time… distraction.

What _does_ that cloud look like? You know… I really do believe I'm seeing a fluffy white Sam-foot in the sky. Huh.

Aragorn is getting testy. He just told off Merry for throwing rocks in the lake. Oooh, rocks! Valar forbid the kid hurts the lake's feelings. This place is pretty dark and unfriendly though… in my personal opinion the dwarves should have hired a few elves to help with their landscaping.

…

We're still hanging around outside. Gandalf's brilliance seems to be fading with the years, but maybe that's me. Oh! Look, something productive, I think Frodo may have thought of an idea. Looks a mite painful.

"It's a riddle" he says. Speak 'friend' and enter. And the doors open. Who'd have thought?

As cowed as I am by the fact that we were all outwitted by a whining, furry, little hobbit - though I would take this moment to point out that I wasn't trying – it is incredibly amusing to see Gandalf bested by said hobbit. I feel no shame in admitting that I smirked. It was dark and I don't think anyone saw it anyway.

I don't think anyone else is put off yet by how dark it is beyond those doors. As we stroll openly through the gaping maw of darkness, Gimli takes this opportunity to be both condescending and hospitable.

"Soon, master Elf, you'll experience the hospitality of the dwarves: malt beer, red meat off the bone!"

Personally, the dreamy look that accompanies this statement makes it sound like a drunken dwarf orgy to me – why am I even thinking about that?

So, I'm going to have to spend at least a week in a dank cave with a bunch of unwashed, drunken dwarves, with nothing better to do with my time than gnaw on a bone like a dog. Happy day.


	7. In Which, I Develope Nyctophobia

Chapter 6

I believe that first impressions are vitally important. The beginning dictates the feeling that lingers throughout an entire visit. These are my first impressions of Moria: It's dark, and it smells bad.

While Gandalf fumbled with his glorified stick, we wandered heedlessly into the abyss. I have a strong suspicion that this is not going to be in the least bit fun.

As the light flickered on and poked into the hidden corners, my second impression was thus: Dwarf corpses – very dead, very… decomposed dwarf corpses. About the only promise this was living up to was the alcohol: I'm very certain I was smelling the beer that had probably soaked the fronts of every beard that surrounded us. What a lovely thought.

My third impression was; who was responsible for ridding the world of so many dwarves? Aside from the smell – and the mess – whoever it was should be given a medal.

The reek and fear are making me callous. I **am** saddened to see so much wasted life…Really. Honestly. I am!

I recovered from the shock of surrounding-death first. Then something caught my eye – a mangy arrow protruding from the chest of the nearest dwarf corpse. In a moment of true masculinity, I deftly ripped the projectile out of its home, examined it, hurled the disgustingly dirty thing away from me, then whipped out my bow and notched an arrow with a snarled, "Goblins!"

In case you are wondering, Goblins are a particularly nasty breed of Orc. They are small, live underground in enormous colonies and are basically the Orcish Spider-Ant. Not pleasant, not nice, and that's what was responsible for all the carnage. Considering the rate of decomposition, they had more than likely infested all of Moria by this time.

Oh, goody.

I come for the drunken dwarf orgies, but I stay for the homicidal Goblin hordes.

The many charms of Moria.

Everyone over five feet had taken my exclamation to heart. In the second most masculine moment that cave has probably ever seen, the men and dwarf drew their weapons and glared into the darkness. Boromir, fulfilling his roll of Captain-Point-Out-The-Obvious, yelled,

"We should never have come here! We must leave! Make for the Gap of Rohan!"

Thank you for telling me exactly what I've known all along!

Frodo now looked as though he might be sick. It was the realization that he had gotten us into this potentially disastrous situation kicking in that was the cause…Or the huge, slimy tentacle that had grabbed him and preceded to drag him towards the water.

Yeah, I'm going with that one.

O.K. so maybe Aragorn had a good reason to bite Merry's head off about the rocks.

The experienced warriors among us (myself most particularly included) charged after him and the other hobbits – all of whom had been closer to him and were already at the water's edge doing some sort of ritualistic scared-shitless dance.

The humans bounded into the water, swords blazing. Gimli tramped in too, but as he could only go in about three feet, he wasn't much help. He bellowed ferociously, though. If the thing had had ears, it might have quivered with fear…Or flattened him with one blow. Which ever.

Gandalf looked concerned, but did nothing to assist us – aren't we the hero.

I took up doing what I do best; shooting icky things with astonishing accuracy. (Well, second best. I do…something else, best.)

Valar! I need help! Snap out of it Legolas! Pay attention to what's going on!

Frodo dangled a good fifty feet in the air, suspended by his ankle. The giant, ugly monster heaved its ugly head out of the water. It opened it's gaping, fanged mouth to drop the tiny morsel – and the One-Ring – into it. The men were hacking through tree trunk-sized tentacles, but the beast was unfazed! That is, until I shot it squarely in the eye. The thing with a never-ending supply of arms dropped Frodo and retreated under the water.

Oh! Who's good?! Who's the prince?!

Captain Heroic-But-Not-As-Much-As-Aragorn caught the little fellow as he flew through the air. Point for Mirror-Man. I'm a good sport, after all.

I did not get proper time to savor my greatness as the creature chose to come at us yet again, this time with full force. Dozens of massive tentacles burst out of the water at us. There was only one thing to do.

We tucked tail and ran for the mines as fast as we could! How courageous! How noble! How incredibly stupid…

Being too big to get in after us, the slimy thing settled for pulling all the rocks around the entrance down on top of the door.

It was pitch black. And we were stuck.

Shit.

No! Ugly monster come back! Kill me, maul me, but don't leave me in here with these idiots! Nooooooooooo!

I would have mentally lamented longer, had an unseen hand not grabbed my ass.

What the HELL?!

The Valar hate me! I am trapped in a dank, black, putrid hole, with five morons, legions of bloodthirsty Goblins, decomposing Dwarf bodies, and on top of all that I'm being groped by a perv. And I don't know which one it is!

Gandalf readjusted his crystal-light-producing-thing and we were graced with faint illumination. I quickly peered around to see who was near by. I _will_ discover the pervert!

No one was close enough to have done it…Uh-oh…

I am **not** crazy! I've been violated by an invisible pervert!

Gandalf gave us all a deep and indiscernible look. "We have but one choice now," he said. "We must journey into the mines of Moria." And he marched purposefully ahead of us into the darkness.

**No**, we have another option! Why not dig our way out?! Our chances of survival are better than traipsing around in the dark, playing hide-and-seek with Goblin hordes! That beast of many slimy, hobbit-grabbing arms isn't going to sit on the shore for hours just waiting for us! Come on!

Nobody listens to me!

Why?! I have good ideas!

I wanted to keep going over the mountain! Freezing would be a kinder death than being eaten alive by monster-midgets! OH! And who saw the bird-minions?! Who's been risking his perfect body left, right and center to save all you retarded mortals?!

ME!

AHHHHHHHH!

…

Sniff. I'm not pouting.

…

We are creeping through Moria. Though I am still reluctant about it, this is not overly difficult for me. I make no sound when I move. Everyone else however, is finding remaining silent difficult. It is quite amusing to watch burly, hyper-masculine men like Aragorn and Boromir tip-toe, clutching their weapons so that they don't clank. Sam is very funny too; he looks like he's trying to walk whilst doing yoga. He shouldn't have brought so many pots. Gimli is having a hard time of it as well – the idea of him doing anything stealthily is absurd! Merry and Pippin might explode at any minute; they haven't said a word in over two hours. It must be some kind of record. Ha.

I'm walking in the back, as I can see best in the dark. Being an Elf has so many advantages…

Wait a second! What was that?!

I could have sworn I heard something…

Nothing… It's all these corpses and the dark. Anyone would freak out a bit. Especially under all the pressure. Nothing…

HOLY SHIT! Something touched my ass! Damn it, is this Valar forsaken place haunted by pervy, elf-molesting Dwarf ghosts?!

I am _not_ going to say anything. They'll think I'm crazy and Gimli will say, "See, I told you he was a fruit!" That won't do. No, not at all.

"Pretty elfy…Yeeesss preciousss. We likes his shiny hair…Yeesss"

What. The. Fuck?!

Alright. You can handle this, Legolas. Just ignore it. It will go away!

Frodo is staring at me. His abnormally large eyes are even wider than usual. Does he hear it too?

"You hear it?" He whispers, clutching at the Ring. I nod.

"Gold hair. Gold, just like our preciousss…Pretty. Yes, my sweet."

Oh my Valar! I know that creepy, nasally voice! And it's not making me feel better to know it's not in my head!

I've got to tell Gandalf! Frodo, uh – stay! Good hobbit!

Gandalf!

I sprint to the head of the line. He gives me his what-are-you-doing-abandoning-your-post look. The whole group doesn't need to know a mutant, schizophrenic hobbit-thing, is groping me! So, I tell him, Gollum's following us. He's here! He wants to take – the Ring.

Sure, that sounds convincing. The Ring, yeah…

He wants to take something else by the sound of it, but that's neither here nor there.

Sorry Gropy! No elf ass for you!

Valar grant me strength! I'm in hell!


	8. In Which, We Are Completely Khazaddûmed

Chapter 7

For the record, Hell – my hell anyway – can be summed up as followed: walking endlessly through the dark, smelling rotting dwarf flesh, listening to Frodo weep and getting groped by Gollum.

Could it get any worse?

That is only what has happened in the last few days. I learned our first 'night' that sleeping on my back, to protect my ass from 'Gropy', was a bad idea. Let it suffice to say that I now sleep in the fetal position with my 'lovely golden hair' under the blanket and my back close to Aragorn to protect my 'perfect ass.' I am quoting my stalker. He is _very_ affectionate… He's the only one enjoying the darkness.

_Stop that you pervert! _

I've taken to using my bow to swat him away.

I can't see him, but I can sure feel him!

I don't want to tell anyone about this – I might be violated on a daily basis, but I will keep my dignity!

"Pretty elfy…Yessss…We wants to pet his lovely golden hair…Yesss Preciousss…"

That is really getting old… Now, if an attractive woman said half the things he's been muttering, without the lisp, I'd be very happy. Valar, that Gropy can talk dirty! I think I saw Frodo taking notes! Which brings up some interesting questions… Eww.

…

We're lost.

Thank you Gandalf. Now we're sitting in some rocky hole while he tries to dredge the directions out of his senile brain. We could be here for a while.

Pippin and Merry have taken the opportunity of the prolonged halt to start a fire and cook something that smells like feet. I am surprised the usually hyper-scrupulous Aragorn hasn't told them to put it out before they attract Goblins. The reek from their pot probably smells like Goblin pheromones.

Ah! Randy, rabid Goblins charging at us from all angles…That's the nastiest mental image I have had the misfortune of seeing since the Dwarf Orgy of three weeks ago.

Valar! Get out of my head!

My eyes! They burn! (metaphorically of course)

…

We are still in the rocky pit. Gandalf hasn't moved in over an hour. Pippin and Merry have taken to playing Hide Boromir's Horn.

No, it is not a game involving Hobbit molestation, though that was my first thought.

I wouldn't put it past Captain of the Dinner Plate to jump on one of those innocent little Hobbits the first chance he got.

Hide Boromir's Horn actually involves stealing his precious Horn of Gondor and stashing it in the most interesting of places. It is actually quite amusing to watch him blundering around and trying to yell _quietly_. If he were smarter, he would have realized that they could only have hidden it below his waist height. They are less than four feet tall, after all.

He really isn't an observant man, is he?

Oh, goody, distraction in the form of a thieving Hobbit!

"Hey, Legolas! Can you hook this to Boromir's shield? You're faster them me or Merry!"

Well, I could…But, it would be wrong…However, it is Boromir, so I suppose it's okay.

"Great! You're the coolest!"

Of course I'm the coolest! I'm an elf!

Hanging the Horn of Gondor off the back of his shield wasn't difficult. It's been thirty minutes, and he continues to blunder around searching for this useless wind instrument. Hee-hee.

I'm a bad elf. Oh, yeah!

What I wouldn't give for a gorgeous, leather-clad woman with a riding crop…Hmm.

Great Valar! I-am-a-pervert!

Oh, the sun has risen! Gandalf has an inkling of where we are!

And what exactly does he base his assertions on?

His _nose_! Oh, I feel reassured!

Well, I might as well follow him. His nose had been here before, and no part of me has. Why didn't those dwarves put up signposts?!

…

Well, well, Gandalf's overlarge snout has gotten us back on track. Maybe, it has a map? There's an image for you.

Okay, the dwarves have some architectural skill. This huge hall…Dwarodelf… I think. It's impressive, if cold and dark.

I want to know how such a vertically challenged race managed to construct a hall so high you can't see the roof. I nearly fell over backwards trying to look up. Compensation, anyone? Anyone? You know I'm right.

Oh. Look! Some drama!

Gimli has seen something… How he did it through that mangy tangle I don't know.

He seems quite upset…I almost feel sorry. Alright, I feel – pity. I'm going soft…

The big marble box that I took to be a table turned out to be a sarcophagus for Gimli's relative. Oops…

Is he…Crying? Oh, that's – that's pathetic. I want to laugh and yet I want to comfort him… I think I shall just stand a respectful distance away and try to ignore him.

This is most uncomfortable.

This is a strange sort of room. Aside from the continuous dwarf-corpse motif, it looks different from the others. For one thing there's sunlight! Glorious bright sunlight! If that window was even slightly bigger I would crawl through it.

Oh, Gandalf found a book. Good for him.

"They are coming. We cannot get out. Drums in the deep. They are coming." He reads.

Uh, dwarf scary tales? Is this really the time?

I mean, Gimli's crying, the Hobbits are scared shitless, Boromir and Aragorn's nerves are about to snap and I'm vacillating between freaking terrified and highly uncomfortable.

I took this opportunity to point out to Aragorn that we must move on, we cannot linger.

But, does anybody listen to the elf? NO!

CLANG! BANG! CRASH!

AHHHHHHHHH!

Damn it, Pippin! Can you go five minutes without getting into horrible trouble?!

BUM…BUM DUM BUM BUM…

Oh…Drums in the deep…We are so dead…Frodo's sword is blue!

He's pregnant!

Sorry, I couldn't resist. I have terrible reactions to intense fear.

Screeching! I hear screeching!

We are all going to die!

I told you we needed to move!

Why are we bothering to whip out our weapons? There are nine for us – if you count Gandalf, who just stands there – and there are thousands of them!

We are royally fucked!

Oh, well, might as well go down in a blaze of glory.

Honestly, it doesn't matter. Nobody but the Goblins are going to know what happened to us. We could all wet ourselves and scream like little girls…

Damn, Boromir missed getting his head skewered by a Goblin arrow. He was closing the rickety door. Like that wooden napkin is going to keep a bloodthirsty mob of Goblins out. It wouldn't keep drunken Hobbits out!

They have a cave troll…Yeah; we are about ten minutes away from death.

I'm too handsome to die! This sucks ass!

"There's one Dwarf in Moria that still draws breath!" Gimli snarls.

Oh, that's brilliant! Call attention to yourself! You won't be drawing breath for long!

Take that you ugly Sub-Orc!

Ha! I'd like to see anyone else nail a Goblin through that tiny hole in the door.

And the door is down. Time to die in a horrific and valiant fashion.

FIGHTLIKEHELLKILLTHINGSUSEMYKNIVESGANDALFACTUALYFIGHTS

I take a moment in all the madness and carnage to make the following observation: Only Sam would attack a Goblin with a skillet!

And back to the bloodlust!

KILLTHINGSLOOKGOODFIGHTINGSHITTROLLBOROMIRGETSBITCHSLAPEDBYTROLLDAMNARAGORNSAVEDHIMBLOODGIMLIGETSKICKEDINTHEASSBYGOBLINHAFRODOPLAYSHIDE-AND-SEEKWITHTROLLFRODODOWNISLAYTROLL

Who's the prince! I am! I slew a troll!

Oh… Frodo's dead… Well, shit…

I almost miss the little fellow…

Ah! Wait, nope! He's okay! He's okay.

That's good. Otherwise, we'd have had to figure out who has to carry The-Ring. Boromir most certainly shouldn't. I don't want it… What would I do with the One-Ring? It's so tacky!

Back to the matter at hand.

Uh, guys, I know we all have warm fuzzies right now, but we need to move! Standing around smiling like idiots won't save us.

Thank you! For once, they listen to me!

…

Can somebody tell me why we ran back out into the big ass hall? The one with no cover? No takers? I didn't think so.

And once again, we face our imminent demise.

We are surrounded by bloodthirsty Goblins. Fantastic…I get to die with _you guys_…

GIRRRRRR!

Uh, Gimli, you're growl isn't going to save us. It's certainly not going to make them back off, in fact, I think they're laughing at you.

Then again, maybe not… They're fleeing… That's not good.

I hate to wipe that self-satisfied smirk off you face Gimli – who am I kidding, I'd love to – but, they aren't fleeing from _you_.

Which can only mean that something more bad-ass than a Horde of Goblins is coming.

Oh, lovely. It's a Balrog!

So, we now face imminent death for a third time within the space of an hour…This is getting old.

And we're off! Run in the opposite direction of the Fire Demon!

Is there anything else that is unequivocally evil in this Valar forsaken shit hole?! Are there any Nazgul in the house? The Dark Lord himself perhaps?

And an inobservant mortal just about ran off a cliff into molten magma, but I save him! Oh, Hell! It was _Boromir_! Ah! I had the perfect chance to be rid of him for good and I saved his sorry ass! Nooo! Damn my heroic instincts!

Could this get any worse?!

"Aragorn! Lead them!" Gandalf orders. What? Now that you know this was a bad idea, you want to displace the blame for when the Balrog makes us his bitches!

It just got worse! The Goblins are shooting at us! They aren't exactly crack shots!

Ha! You missed! Shoot Boromir!

There's a gaping hole in the stairs. No big deal. I jumped it without any problem. The mortals on the other hand are going to have some difficulty!

Gandalf! I caught him

This is hardly the time to find anything funny, but Gimli nearly got himself killed! Again. Aragorn went to throw him over to me but he insisted that,

"Nobody tosses a dwarf!"

Maybe, but this elf saved a dwarf by hauling him up by his beard! Ha!

Shit! Aragorn and Frodo are stuck! The Balrog's breathing down their necks and the rock is swaying!

C'mon! I've got you!

And they're safe!

Relatively speaking… There's still a hale of arrows and a Balrog to contend with.

The Dwarfs need to hire interior decorators! Grey-black rock and lava are hardly a restful, homey environment! And there are no safety-rails too boot! How many retarded Dwarflings came to an early end, due to a lack of safety awareness?

"The Bridge of Khazad-dûm!"

Doom is right! As an elf, I have no problem dashing over a piece of rock the size of an elongated toothpick, but I can't see Gimli or anybody built like him using this easily! Valar! These dwarfs had a death wish! Are suicidal tendencies inherent in the species?

Ewww! I think Pippin wet himself! I had to jump over a puddle of something on the "bridge". Nasty.

It is raining arrows! Why couldn't it be raining beautiful women?!

Focus, Legolas! You filthy pervert!

Ah! Balrog on the bridge! We are totally Khazad-dûmed!

Uh, Gandalf?! What are you doing?!

Yelling at him isn't going to help! We need to run!

Oh, you cracked your glorified toothpick on the bridge.

And it collapsed… Bully for you.

Hurrah! We might just survive!

Ah! Happy feeling is gone!

In a final act of well-I'll-show-you, the Balrog pulled Gandalf in with him!

That's not good!

Bigger people, grab the Hobbits and run!

Yay! We're out in the Sun and the Goblin's can't get us!

No! Gandalf is dead!

What are we going to do?

Gimli, Sam, Merry and Pippin are bawling. Boromir looks distraught. Aragorn is going for steely agony. I, personally, went with saddened and stunned. And Frodo seems to have gone with miserable and lost.

Now I wish I had let the old coot borrow my tweezers when he asked…

"Legolas, get them up." Said Aragorn, in an I-need-somebody-else-to-be-the-nice-guy tone. I obliged.

Boromir got his knickers in a twist because Aragorn beat him to the finish line in the race for the new leader. Well, I wouldn't have listened to him even if he had won.

"Give them a moment for pities sake!" Translation, "I want to be the nice leader-man!"

Aragorn responds,

"By night fall these hills will be swarming with Ors!" Translation, "Pull your tighty-whities out of you rectum and get moving before your stupidity gets us all killed!"

He shut up and we moved out.


	9. In Which, I am Wholly Satisfied

Chapter 8

We're back baby! (Didja miss us?)

Chapter 8. In Which I am Wholly Satisfied

We are going to Lothlorien! Which means, I will soon be surrounded by a throng of extraordinarily beautiful Elvish women! I can drown my grief over Gandalf's demise in sex!

Thank the Valar!

I would dance for joy, but I have to sprint!

Is it at all surprising that I am far, far in the lead?

If I was romping through the grass any faster I would be running over it!

I see trees! Big, lovely Malorn Trees!

Ah! Lorien is in sight!

I could cry! But I'll settle for just getting into those wonderful woods before the Sun sets and the homicidal Goblin horde tracks us down and makes loin clothes out of our skins… Lovely image, that…

On the up side, I have a perfectly delicious plan for if the Goblins do manage to catch us up.

All we have to do is hogtie Boromir, stuff an apple in his mouth, use his stupid shield as a platter, dress him up like a suckling pig and sneak away while the Goblins feast on his flesh.

It takes care of two problems at once – the Goblins and Boromir. They eat him and his vileness poisons them. Two birds; one stone.

Aragorn seemed to think my idea had promise. He told me to keep an apple with me, just in case… It's a lovely, big apple.

You know, I almost hope the Goblins chase us down…

Aaaaaaaaaaaand we are safe! Except for Gimli, who runs like a drunken bull with a lame leg. Could he take any longer?

Sigh…

Thank you for joining us, Gimli. Glad you could make it.

"So, what do we do now?" Trills Pippin.

Good question. The Galadrim aren't exactly expecting us, though I should think the Lady of the Wood has seen our approach.

…

Dwarfish stupidity never ceases to amaze me.

Time for a recap. We were tramping through Lorien and Gimli starts in on the hobbits with what at first sounded like a bad ghost story. A sorceress of the woods. An elf witch of terrible power, oooh. Please insert hand gestures to emphasize my distain.

Then it occurs to me, this lowly creature has the gall to tell the Hobbits that Lady Galadriel is a sorceress! Lady Galadriel is a woman of incredible power, I grant him that. But claiming her to be a witch is like claiming Gimli to be pretty.

Something fails in the logic, and it offends everyone. Except him, apparently. And if that wasn't bad enough, the hobbits are completely taken in, and they look terrified. Haven't they been through enough? Merry and Pippin could probably do with a couple more scares, but Poor Frodo… his heart might give out…

He expected them to house and look at his sorry, ugly ass and he talks about their Lady like that! Do Dwarves have no etiquette at all? Other than an apparent taboo on imprisoning stubborn gatecrashers…

They make no sense.

"Well," He began in an obscenely boastful manner…

I could have told him what he was about to walk into – but he deserved it.

"This is one Dwarf she won't ensnare so easily! I have the eyes of a hawk and ears of a fox." And the mouth of a bass. Suddenly he was looking down the business end of an arrow. I permitted myself an inward chuckle.

Out of habit, I whipped out my own bow and arrow, even though I knew it was the Galadrim coming to "welcome" us. They probably would not have felt the need to greet us with weapons if Gimli had kept his big trap shut.

"The Dwarf breathes so loudly, we could have shot him in the dark." Drawled their leader, smugly. I sniggered as I put my weapons up. It was very true. Though I didn't much appreciate his I'm-so-wonderful-and-in-charge attitude. Or his imperious declaration,

"You bring great evil here. You must go no further."

Our fearless leader did not take that well.

"Haldir!" He called after the red cloaked Elf as he retreated into the trees.

So now we're huddled together on one of their platforms way up in the trees while Aragorn and Haldir argue in Elvish.

To sum up several hours of arguing, the Galadrim don't want The-Ring in their land because the Eye will be upon them, they don't like outsiders seeing their secret haven and, most importantly, they don't like Dwarves…

So, basically we're fucked, and not in a good way.

Now, it's been made clear that I am welcome and so is Aragorn, just not our fellows. Though I get the feeling that if Frodo didn't have The-Ring, they would have no real issue with the gaggle of furry-footed morons.

Gimli however, has reaffirmed his title of Biggest Prick in Existence.

Aragorn and I have been trying to persuade Haldir to let us in and he goes and says something truly rude in Dwarfish! He has no sense at all!

All Haldir said was, "We have not had dealings with the Dwarves since the dark days." That's not an insult, it's a statement! Where does he get off?

Aragorn realizes that Gimli knows no social graces and bends over to be on eye level with him. I feel that the scolding he gives him is firm, derogatory, and completely deserved. Well done Aragorn, well done.

If they throw us out, we are at the mercy of the Goblin horde! And I don't think Boromir will keep them entertained long enough for us to find another place as safe as Lothloriean! And there isn't enough of him to poison them all!

Ah! I want to push him off this flet! Let's see if he has the wings of an eagle to go with those hawk eyes…

"Pretty elfy… Yessss precioussss…."

Oh, shit! No! No! No!

"We missed his lovely assss, yes, precious, we did."

Not him! Not – gulp – Gropey… DAMN!

Haldir! We have to get into your country! This is our only chance! The fate of the world depends on it!

Ok, that was overly dramatic, but hey. I will not tolerate another night of being felt up by a freak! Never again! I can't – sob – I just can't!

"We will send word to our Lady. She must decide."

It will do! Send her the message, NOW!

Aragorn agreed and Haldir sent one of his brothers off to convey our desperate plea for succor.

"Pretty elfy… Yes, precious."

Uh-huh-ah. sob Make him go away, mommy… make him go away…ewwwwwww….

…

The next day

Her Ladyship sent Haldir's innocuous brother back, saying that we could come on in, but the dwarf and Hobbits must be blindfolded. She no likey strangers.

Sure. Fine. Whatever. Let's go!

"Arrrg." Oh, Valar! Leave it to Gimli to muck up a perfectly simple situation. Shut up and take it like a man, Prince of the Napoleonic Complex!

"I will not be blindfolded!" The smelly midget growled.

"It is our Lady's command." Haldir said simply. His tone was calm, but I could almost see him fantasizing about skewering Gimli with one of his arrows. Or, that might just be _my_ fantasy… Dwarf-cabob…and roast Boromir. Hum. I must be hungry, but then again, I think I just lost my developing appetite.

"I will not be the only one led around in the dark!" Bellowed Gimli like a mad, angry little cow.

It got really ugly then. Nobody said anything, because what was there to say…well, besides 'shut the fuck up, you venomous midget!' But we were in polite society, so that was not an option. The Galadrim were looking mutinous and our company was looking ashamed. Damn the stupid, stubborn bastard!

Thank the Valar for Aragorn, who smoothly intervened before Gimli could get us thrown out of the only sanctuary we have. The stupid douche! Is this that Dwarfish Death Wish thing rearing its ugly head?

"We will all wear blindfolds," Growled Aragorn. _And that's final_, I added in my mind.

Very good Aragorn; take charge. We'll all wear blindfolds – wait, what the Hell? Aragorn! You've got to be kidding me! Valardamnit! You expect me, a Prince of Mirkwood, to walk through Lothlorien blindfolded? This is too much!

"Now, my friend, it's for the greater good that we all submit to The Lady's will. And we cannot subject our fellow to something that we would not ourselves do."

You're a jackass Aragorn, your logic sucks, and I shall not speak to you for the remainder of the day. So there.

I did not say any of that out loud of course, so it will take him a few hours to notice that I am upset and ignoring him.

Dear Valar, I am acting like a woman. I hate him.

I hate him; I hate the hobbits; I hate The-Most-Evil-Ring; I HATE Boromir, and I hate. No. I _loathe_ Gimli, who shall henceforth be referred to as That Damn Midget.

…

And now we're walking blindfolded and being guided by Haldir and his Holier-than-thou band… at least, they are. I pouted for a bit until it dawned on me: if I were to slide my blindfold up, no one else would notice.

Except the other elves, but they're not saying anything.

It's quite lovely to be among my own kind. In fact, I am so pleased that I am willing to overlook the smug, overly amused looks they held on me whilst I was still blindfolded. I may not have been able to see, but I could feel every smirk at my expense.

…

After much walking, we crest a final hill and Lothlorien is before us. Haldir takes a moment to introduce us all to the wonderment that is "The Heart of Elvendome." Ooooh, Caras Galadhon, I'm impressed. It's very shiny. We all took a moment to take in the grandeur. We all made personal noises of awe and appreciation. Apparently the Dwarfish sound of awe is a fart. Thank you, you Damn Midget, for serenading us with the symphony that is the music of your bowels.

Can we go now?

…

After more walking, we reach The Lady's throne room. As a side-note, I believe that all Galadrim have developed a genetic immunity to bright light. This place is shinier _inside_ than it is out, believe it or not. How does anyone sleep here?

Celeborn and Galadrial descend from on high, which is also incredibly bright and shiny, to mingle with us dirty pilgrims. It's amazing how standing among these mongrels makes me feel dirty by association. (Sorry Aragorn, but there's no getting around how much you stink.)

The first thing that they want to know, which I'm sure is the first thing anyone would want to know in their situation: "Tell me, where is Gandalf? For I much desire to speak with him," says the henpecked husband. Well, so would we.

An awkward silence follows this question and everyone suddenly becomes fascinated by their footwear, or feet as the case may be. Is anyone going to tell them?

… No?

… No takers?

… I'm going to have to do it…

Fine.

As I explained the results from our needless waltz through Moria, the heads of my companions all sank a little bit. I could not see their expressions, for I was focused on the shiny that was Lady Galadrial and its source (there was no spot light, so I must assume it was internal).

Yes, be ashamed. You should be. This wasn't part of my job description, it was Aragorn's. So why am I explaining this?

Obviously, I am the only true man here. (Though I believe that was established at the first instance of communal bathing.)

And as I am the only true man, I am also the only one who seems to have realized that Lady Galadrial – disregarding any strange internal bio-luminescence – is a woman. The first woman we have seen since leaving Rivendell. And by the Valar, she is beautiful. Though I would never dream of doing anything more than idly noticing her beauty, as she is more than capable of smiting my sorry, horny ass.

And while we're on the subject of horny asses: where are all of the other women? I very much desire to lay my eyes on a being that is both attainable and physically attractive, in other words, female.

A strange noise to my right disturbs my increasingly perverse contemplations, causing me to turn and –

_Oh_. Um. Is. He? …

Really? Is this happening? Is he crying? Honestly, Boromir! Man up!

Waitaminute, what is going on? Is this some sort of mutual breakdown? Did I miss some sort of cue? Why am I the only one not on the verge of or in tears? I mean, even Aragorn looks a little green – and for tall dark and stoic, that's something.

And Boromir, good Valar, is that a runlet of snot below your nose? Ew. I am disgusted and vaguely ashamed to be in any way associated with you lot. Bunch of pansies. Once again, I have proved without any real effort that I am the only real man here.

Maybe I should continue on my own. But then again, I wouldn't have any convenient Boromirs to throw at pesky goblins. What could possibly be the bright side of traveling with these not-men who break down and cry for no apparent reason in front of distinguished company?

Ah, I remember now. No competition for the ladies. Unless they like the effeminate, sensitive type. What was the word for that? Ah yes, gay.

…

Her Ladyship has put us up. But apparently, as important as we are, we do not warrant quarters among the Galadrim. No. We've been put on the ground where they can all lean over and giggle at us. However, as I haven't slept in my bed/sleeping bag once since we got here, it really doesn't matter.

I am very popular.

Little me says _yay_.

Little me was finally satisfied the night I slept with a very distinguished and sexy bint, whose name shall not be mentioned out of deference. However, as it transpires, she was not satisfied with our first few encounters. Though, after having been with her – and several other very obliging ladies – I was, in a word: spent.

Eventually, even I get tired.

And one night, I did decide to sleep in my own bed/sleeping bag with my companions. Whom I hadn't seen in several days due to my rampant escapades.

It was rather nice to actually sleep for a change. I was just enjoying a very pleasant and non-sexual dream (which was the first in many months) when I was awakened by a light but decidedly odd-shaped weight straddling my midsection.

Dear Valar, woman! Don't you sleep?! I hissed, in an attempt to be both shocked and discrete. As proud of my recent conquests as I am, I do not want to be caught by my companions with the sexy bint on top of me whilst I was refusing her rather obvious advances. Maybe tomorrow darling, but I'm exhausted, and right now, the quiver's empty.

I did feel that the situation required some delicacy, as I would like to get back there eventually, so I tried to be polite. She may have walked away with a bit of a mis-conception, as I caught a glint of pity in her eyes.

I don't want to wake my companions with your screaming, I called after her. Perhaps that wasn't particularly well handled, but I felt provoked and this late at night there is no mind-to-mouth filter. She giggled and waved. Score one; or many, as it is in my case.

I turned back to my bed to discover that Gimli was awake and had obviously witnessed that whole spectacle.

It was dark, but I think I saw what might have been awe. Well, the pretty little nympho was rather attractive. And I'm serious when I say nympho. Insatiable, that one.

His look seemed to say: why would you send her away?

Well, every man has his limits.


End file.
